Anything to Keep You
by BlitheBells
Summary: ON HAITUS An skinny!Steve 1950s AU He knew he was in pieces. He would sometimes be in the middle of a thought or a sentence and forget what he had been saying. He would ask Steve to repeat things he'd already said a hundred times. And his head hurt so bad. Also on AO3 and Wattpad
1. 1

1

Steve was working late. It was the first night Peggy was out of town and she wasn't around to tell him to rest, so he took the opportunity to go overtime at SHIELD, staying until way past everyone else was gone. His office was big and spacious, with a window in the back, and it was connected to Peggy's office, which was nice. He'd already shut off all the lights and was getting his bag from his desk, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and the moonlight from the big window. He was so tired that he thought staying late might not have been worth it, but later, thinking back on it, he changed his mind. He had had no idea how worth it it had been.

As he was gathering up his things to leave, the door on the other side of the room swung open and slammed against the wall and Steve jumped, stunned. In the doorway stood a man, tall and uninvited and dressed in black and Steve stared, wide-eyed. The man stared, too. He was wearing goggles and a black scarf over his face. Steve waited for something to happen and the man didn't move.

"Get out," Steve said incredulously. On this cue, the man stalked into the room and dove at him. Steve jumped and gasped and almost hit the floor. He caught himself on his desk and the man had a knife and was raising it above his head and Steve thought he saw his life flash before his eyes. But then man hesitated, knife poised, and Steve needed no other opportunity. He steadied himself as fast as he could and socked the man as hard in the face. The assassin stumbled back and drop his knife and Steve followed him, trying to remember what Peggy had taught him, to square his feet and hit using his whole body, adrenaline suddenly rocketing through him. This wasn't how he had pictured his evening. His punches didn't seem to do a lot of good against the man, and after a few, he grabbed up Steve's hands and shoved him backwards _hard_. Steve hit the edge of his desk and scrambled to run behind it to put something in between them.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Steve cried and the man didn't answer. Was there anyone he could call? Could he reach the phone in time? The man followed him and took out another knife from his belt, but Steve watched his head turn as something on the desk caught his attention. He put the knife away and Steve watched him pick up his photo of Bucky from off the desk.

"Who is this man," the assassin spoke his first words to Steve from behind his black mask, his voice gruff underneath the metal, and raw, as though he hadn't spoke in years.

"How dare you touch that," Steve growled and reached out to yank the photo from the man's hands. He almost braced himself, ready to be brutally murdered in that instant, but the man let him take it passively. "How _dare_ you."

"Who is he?" The man demanded again, but only his voice held the same menace. His shoulders had fallen, he was very nearly shying away. Steve looked down at the picture in his hand and looked back up at him defiantly.

"His name was Bucky," Steve finally said, his voice full of resentment and a little confusion about what was going on. "He was my best friend."

"Bucky," the man repeated slowly.

"Yeah, you got a problem with it?" Steve spat. The man stared at him.

"Til the end of the line," he whispered. Through the scarf, his voice was hollow. Steve almost didn't think he heard him right. First, he felt pain. It hurt, and he almost sounded like Bucky for a moment and Steve felt the words claw at his heart. Then, he drew up rage and indignance. It exploded in his chest and he thought he saw spots. Those weren't his words to say! They weren't _anyone's_ to say! How dare he! Steve stepped towards the assassin, crowded his personal space, tried to hunch his shoulders to make himself bigger. The rage clouded his judgement.

"What," he hissed. "Did you say." The man said it again.

"Til the," he choked. "End of the line, end of… The-"

"Where in the _hell_ did you hear that?!" Steve yelled. He was still holding Bucky's framed photograph in both hands and he used it to shove the assassin back in a rage. The man let himself be pushed and Steve could barely think about this through the emotions exploding in his chest. "How dare you!"

Then, the man seemed to fold in on himself. Steve watched his knees hit the floor and he looked up at Steve, his eyes wide. He moved his hands over his hair and he clutched his head. Something really weird was happening. Steve had never had been attempted to be assassinated before but he figured this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. The assassin seemed to be falling apart.

"Steve," he breathed.

"How do you know my name," Steve said, but watching the man collapse on the floor, he began to realize where he recognized that muffled, battered voice from. Horror he couldn't have imagined struck his heart. "How do you know my name."

"Steve," the man said again and he doubled over. "Uuuugh it hurts."

"Who are you," Steve said. He was gripping the picture frame tightly with both hands now, so tight his knuckles were white. He was starting to gasp. He could hear with each breath, the rattling in his chest get worse. "Who… Who are you…"

The man moaned in pain and he curled tighter into his chest.

This couldn't be happening, Steve thought. But his voice… He took a few steps back.

The man's head came up for a second and Steve stared as he tore off his goggles. His eyes were ringed red and tears streaked down his face. He looked up at Steve and Steve wheezed in a breath. Steve watched his eyes search his face for a brief second before he became overwhelmed again and covered his face with both hands, digging fingers into hair slicked back with sweat. He groaned.

"Aaaaahh… St-teve, Steve," he groaned and Steve felt his heart fall through the floor.

"It can't be," he whispered, but the man across the room was beginning to sob, shaking violently. Steve watched him wrap his arms around his stomach, watched his crying escalate, and he reached up with one hand and pulled down the black scarf. He was reaching up with his hands to cover his face again, but Steve had already seen. His legs became jello and he felt himself drop to the floor.

"Bucky," he whispered and Bucky screamed. "Bucky," Steve said again but he was still yelling.

"Stop!" He screamed. "Stop, stop, stop, stop!"

Cautiously, Steve began to try to bring himself to Bucky. He was starting to find it difficult to breathe, but he ignored the pain. Across the room, on all fours, he approached him. When he finally grew close enough, he reached out a hand. He wasn't sure if it was for comfort or to check for himself that Bucky was really there, but as soon as Bucky felt fingers on his shoulder, he leapt, scooting away, shaking his head.

"Don't touch me!" He screamed. "Don't touch me!" Bucky's back hit the wall and he stopped there, staring at Steve with terrified eyes, red and swollen eyes, eyes Steve was beginning to recognize. He was filthy. His face was streaked with tears and soot, his hair was greasy and unkempt and overgrown and on his face was the very beginnings of a beard. He looked like he'd been through hell.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Steve said and Bucky pressed his back to the wall harder. Suddenly, although minutes ago, he'd been terrifying and intimidating, all cold killer, Steve couldn't see that anymore. He couldn't see how anything like that existed here at all.

"Please don't hurt me, don't hurt me, anything, just don't," Bucky was pleading. He was still holding his head and tears still streaked his face.

"I'm not going to hurt you, damn it," Steve replied. "It's me, it's Steve." Bucky stared at him, heaving in breaths.

"Steve," Bucky repeated in a shaky voice.

"Steve, yeah," Steve responded. He reached out a hand gently to Bucky now and Bucky still looked at it untrustingly and shuddered. "Oh," Steve whispered. "Bucky, what _happened_ to you?"

"I don't remember," Bucky whispered and Steve swallowed and stared.


	2. 2

2

"I-I gotta take you home," Steve said, because it was the first thing he could think to do. "Stop crying, it's okay, I'll get you home and you can tell me everything."

"I can't," Bucky said. "I can't, I can't, I can't."

"Why?" Steve demanded.

"They'll come looking for me. They'll find me," Bucky said.

"Who'll find you?" Steve said and Bucky just looked at him and shook his head.

"They're expecting me," he gasped. "They'll find me, they find me and put me back and they'll freeze me up."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Steve said incredulously. "But look, it doesn't matter, look, I'll take you back and you'll be safe, please, Buck."

"I was supposed to kill you," Bucky said. "The director and anyone else who got in the way."

"Well, you can't kill the director," Steve said. "Please, come here, I'll help you." Then, "Bucky, who are _they_?"

"I don't know," Bucky said between between racked breaths.

Millions of questions flew through Steve's head, but Bucky didn't seem to have very many answers, and he wasn't in a position to give the answers he did have.

All of a sudden, Bucky scrambled to his feet. Steve tried to follow, but he wasn't nearly as fast.

"I've got to go," Bucky said in a panicked voice.

"No," Steve said. "No, wait!" Bucky was poised, and the second he made a move, Steve pounced on him. They hit the floor and Bucky put up almost no resistance. Steve sat on top of him and held his wrists.

"You've got to let me go," Bucky said. There was fear in his face.

"Bucky, you were dead!" Steve cried. "I'm not letting you go for anything!"

"They're gonna kill me for not completing the mission," Bucky said.

"Then come home with me!" Steve exclaimed. "Don't let them beat up on you!" Bucky had been looking away from Steve's face, his eyes far-away, but he finally focused for a second on Steve's eyes and blinked, as though he hadn't considered that.

"They'll find me," he breathed.

Steve gripped Bucky's wrists tighter.

"The car's outside. Come with me," he said.

"But-" Bucky said.

"No buts, this isn't up for discussion, you're coming," Steve said.


	3. 3

3

Steve lived in a small apartment in New York that he had gotten with Peggy Carter after the war. Steve had never been able to get into the war, and although a few years had passed, he still felt resentful sometimes. Especially since his best friend had gone and died there and there was nothing Steve could have done.

They drove to the apartment in the dark and Bucky ducked under the window the whole way.

"Who are you," Bucky said for the third time that night. Once they'd arrived at the apartment, he'd hid himself from all windows by sitting in a far corner. Steve didn't know what to do for him, so he'd given him a blanket and Bucky took it and wrapped it around his shoulders, tied himself up in it tightly. He was staring warily at Steve and hugging his arms around his knees. Steve, cross-legged across the floor a few feet away, leaned over on his elbows and sighed.

"Steve Rogers," he replied for the third time. "Steven Grant Rogers. I'm your best friend."

"Why don't I remember you?" Bucky asked and Steve swallowed.

Why don't you remember our last thirty minutes of conversation? He wondered.

"I don't know," he replied tiredly.

They would have this conversation more times throughout the night, and Bucky would cover his face or grip his head afterwards and groan, in obvious pain, but Steve didn't know what was happening or how to help him. Then, finally, Bucky said something different.

"Who am I?" He asked and Steve looked at him.

"Bucky Barnes," Steve replied. "James Buchanan Barnes. My best friend."

"Why do I kill so many people?" He said and Steve felt a chill run down his spine. His stomach turned.

"Um," he said, suddenly at a loss. "Um, well, you were a soldier." He watched Bucky's eyes shift downwards and he tightened his blanket around himself.

"Did I want to be a soldier?" He asked. Steve didn't know what to say.

"You don't have to do it anymore, Buck," Steve said back. "I have you now, they can't make you do anything else." Bucky stared at the ground.

"Okay," he said.

Maybe thirty minutes later, Steve spoke. Exhaustion was consuming him. He felt like he could drop dead any minute. Peggy's voice rang in his head to rest.

"I'm not feeling well," he admitted. "I, uh, need to sleep." Bucky looked up and stared at him with his eyes empty and Steve realized he didn't know how to read him anymore. He didn't know what was left of Bucky in this man who didn't know his own name. "You need to stay in this apartment, okay? Don't go anywhere?"

"You can't sleep in front of me," Bucky said quietly, as though he were confused and Steve blinked.

"Huh, why not?" He asked.

"I could kill you," Bucky whispered back. "I could kill you with my bare hands. You can't sleep in front of me." Again, Steve was speechless. What was he supposed to say to that?

"I trust you, Buck," he replied. "Best friends, remember?"

"Sleeping people are vulnerable," Bucky said.

"Well, best friendship lesson one," Steve said as he pulled himself to his feet and made his way over to the door across the room. "Friends are vulnerable," he said. "Together. That's part of the point." Once he reached the door, he pulled it open and turned back towards Bucky. "Well, do you want to come lay down or are you going to sit on the floor all night?"

Steve watched Bucky pull himself to his feet slowly and follow Steve cautiously. Steve let him in and changed into pajamas. The whole time, Bucky stood by the door and stared at the floor. Steve, mid-way through pulling his pants up, glanced up at Bucky and studied his face. There were lines there that he didn't remember, and a heaviness. He stopped and stared until Bucky's eyes flickered up and met his and Steve looked away again. He finished pulling on his pajamas.

"You just seem," he started and then stopped himself, realizing he didn't know how to go on. Bucky was staring at him now. Steve turned his back and pushed his hair back with both hands. "Nothing," he finished. "You seem tired, that's all."

Steve offered Bucky clothes to borrow to sleep in, but Bucky refused.

"What, you're going to sleep in that?" Steve asked, gesturing to his thick pants and heavy black jacket. Bucky chewed on his bottom lip and nodded. Steve didn't know what to think. He didn't know how to respond or what to say. He was Bucky, but he also… Well, he also almost _wasn't_. Steve didn't know what to do. What's the protocol for finding out your long-dead best friend is alive and has forgotten everything and is now an assassin sent to kill the director of SHIELD? Steve felt like he was watching himself from outside. He did everything mechanically, make dinner, put on pajamas, go to bed, as though Bucky wasn't standing behind him like a shadow, tense like a scared rabbit, and miraculously alive. Steve thought he was maybe in shock.

Steve laid down on one side of the bed, pulling up the sheets, and motioned for Bucky to take the other side. Stiffly, Bucky followed his direction and sat down on the other side of the bed.

"You've got to take your boots off," Steve said quietly and after a second, Bucky leaned down and undid his shoelaces. He pulled off the boots and swung his legs up onto the bed. Steve watched him and felt a lump grow in his throat. His vision was blurring. "Buck," he said quietly and Bucky looked over. His eyes had looked like that all night-scared and red-ringed and wide. Deer in the headlights kind of stunned. The lump grew and he choked a little. "I've missed you so much," he whispered and Bucky only stared. Steve scooted over slowly and Bucky tensed a little, but let him get closer. Steve knew Bucky might jump if he touched him, but he couldn't stop himself and he grabbed him and gripped him as hard as he could. Bucky tensed and shuddered, but Steve didn't let go and after a few seconds, Bucky relaxed. He didn't move his arms to put them around Steve. Steve squeezed him and he felt tears fall, as hard as he had tried to stop them.

After a minute, Steve pulled away and wiped off his face. He scooted back over to his side of the bed and grabbed up the covers and threw them over himself, turning his body away from Bucky and he reached up and pulled the string on the lamp next to the bed. The darkness fell over them. Bucky was still sitting upright on the other side of the bed.

"I won't kill you," Bucky said after a few seconds and Steve pressed his tired face into his pillow. Tears were threatening again.

"I know," he said and took a minute to pull himself together. He bit the inside of his cheek hard. No tears, no tears! Cut it out!

"You won't go anywhere either, right?" Steve added once he'd gotten ahold of himself. Bucky didn't answer and Steve opened his eyes and looked over and saw Bucky staring at him. "Right?" Steve asked again and Bucky looked down.

"I won't," he said.

After a few minutes, Steve felt the bed move as Bucky laid himself down carefully. He couldn't sleep, his mind was so filled with thoughts and emotions, and he was scared that if he went to sleep, he'd wake up and find that Bucky had been a dream, but eventually his exhaustion got the better of him and he fell into an anxious sleep. A few times during the night, he woke in a haze and whirled around to make sure Bucky was still there and every time, he was.


	4. 4

4

When Steve woke up in the morning, he immediately turned over to see Bucky again. Bucky was lying in the same position he had been all night, on his back. He was staring at the ceiling.

"Good morning," Steve said. Bucky looked over at him and blinked. He looked exhausted. Steve wondered if he'd slept at all.

"What's my name again?" Bucky whispered. There was a desperate look in his face.

Steve sat up carefully and leaned over to the table by the bed. He took a marker he found there and started to move towards Bucky. Bucky scrambled and nearly fell off the bed, but Steve, kneeling on the mattress, put his hands up, palms forward.

"Hey," he said. "Calm down. Your name is Bucky Barnes. My name is Steve Rogers. We're friends." He inched closer and closer to Bucky until Bucky, still tense, relaxed ever so slightly. "Give me your hand," he instructed. Bucky glanced down at his gloved hands.

"Which one?" He asked.

"The one you'd like me to write on," Steve replied and let Bucky consider this before handing him his right hand. Steve cupped his hand as gently as he could in his own, palms facing the ceiling, and began to slip his glove off over his fingers. When his hand was finally bare, Steve turned it just enough to write on it words Bucky could read. In big letters on his palm, Steve wrote out 'BUCKY' and then under it, he added 'STEVE'.

"There," Steve said as he gave Bucky his hand back. "Now you won't forget."

Bucky stared at the ink on his hand and nodded a little.

"That's me," Steve said and pointed to his name. "And that's you."

"Thanks," Bucky said quietly.

Steve sat back on the mattress and looked at Bucky. Morning light was coming through the cracks in the blinds and everything seemed a light grey with the lines of light spilled over everything. Steve watched the lines move up and down on Bucky's face.

"Buck," he said. "How are you alive?" Bucky looked up at him and shook his head.

"I don't know," he said.

"Where have you been all this time?" Steve asked and Bucky looked down. He shook his head again.

"I don't know," he repeated.

"What _do_ you remember of the past few years?" Steve said. Bucky blinked a few times and put his hand down on the sheets.

"Almost nothing," he whispered.

"What _do_ you know?" Steve pressed and Bucky hastily wiped wetness away from his eyes. He stammered out a barely-coherent response.

"I don't know, please don't make me think about it," he finally said. Steve's heart broke and he sat back, realizing he'd been leaning forward, and stopped.

"Okay," he said. "It's okay, don't think about it. Don't cry, I just, I'm trying to figure everything out. I'm a little, well, I'm _more_ than a little confused."

Bucky didn't answer and Steve hesitated a moment.

"I'm glad you didn't leave," he said quietly. "Last night."

"If they find me…," Bucky started and trailed off. He turned his face away from Steve. Steve wanted to ask more, but stopped himself. Now wasn't the time.

He got up and went into the kitchen and made a quick breakfast of eggs and toast and orange juice and he piled it onto a tray and brought it into the bedroom, where he sat it down in front of Bucky and climbed up on the bed next to him and started scooping eggs into his mouth. Bucky stared at the food.

"Are you hungry?" Steve asked. Bucky nodded. "So eat. Half of this is for you, you know."

Bucky ate slowly and sometimes, he stared at Steve and Steve let him. They ate silently, until Bucky spoke.

"Looking at you gives me a headache," he said.

"Ouch," Steve said. "I know you were always the better-looking of the two of us but you don't gotta rub it in."

"I feel like my head is going to explode," he continued. Steve looked up at him and he was considering making another self-deprecating joke, but the look on Bucky's face stopped him.

"Really?" He said. Bucky nodded. "Well, uh, let me get you some tylenol or something."

While Bucky took a few tylenol pills, Steve took his various medications. Bucky stared at him the whole time.

"If it hurts to look at me, maybe you ought to quit looking," Steve said, a little resentful that Bucky was watching him go through his miserable every day medicine routine. He was self-conscious enough about it. Bucky looked away.

"I feel like I know you," Bucky said.

"You do," Steve replied.

That day was a Sunday and Steve didn't have work, which was great because he still felt so tired and he wanted to rest, and he knew he couldn't leave Bucky. They both lay there in Steve's bed for a long time and talked little. Steve wished he could hug him again. It felt great to touch him, to know he was _real_. And it had been so long.

Steve went to open the blinds once and Bucky stopped him, fearful of being caught by whoever it was that he was afraid of. Steve left the blinds closed.

"Those people," Steve said. "Who sent you to kill the director. Will they send someone else?"

Bucky's face was blank. Steve didn't know if he hadn't heard or if he was thinking and he was going to ask again when Bucky responded.

"I don't know," he finally said and Steve groaned internally. That had been all he'd been saying for a long time.

"How does your headache feel?" Steve asked after a few minutes.

"Better," Bucky said.

"Can you look at me?" Steve asked.

"Mostly," Bucky said.


	5. 5

5

Over the course of the day, Bucky revealed that he remembered next to nothing about the past several years, and nothing at all about before his disappearance. He remembered the previous night in snippets. Sometimes, it was as though he'd forget something immediately after it happened. Steve didn't understand and he was scared and he felt sick and he could feel himself growing impatient and frustrated with the situation.

They passed the day like that, resting in bed, talking little, and Steve didn't know what to do.

The next day was a Monday and Steve had work. He called in a sick day, which was a big deal because he didn't have too many of those left and he really, really needed them, but he figured this was a big enough issue.

Bucky still refused to take off any of his uncomfortable-looking black clothing, no matter how many times Steve offered him something comfortable.

Steve decided that they'd go through the photo album that day. He pulled out a stack and carried them to the bedroom, where Bucky was still sitting on his side of the bed, and dropped them in front of him.

"You don't remember this stuff," he said. "And I don't know why. But I'll explain it to you again, so you can see, so you know, okay?"

"Okay," Bucky said.

Steve started at the beginning and explained Bucky's life, who he was, and he showed him pictures. He explained how they had become friends and how Steve loved Bucky more than anything and how he'd gone off to war and gotten killed. Or, rather, something had happened to him, that was for sure, but Steve supposed it wasn't exactly death.

Steve explained how he never quite got into the army himself, although it crushed him. Steve didn't mention what a dark time it was in his life, when Bucky had died and Steve was just sitting at home, waiting. It was so hard.

Instead, Steve jumped ahead to the point where he'd gotten a job with SHIELD and met a girl named Peggy Carter and she'd married him and they'd gotten this apartment and now it was 1950 and Bucky was caught up. Steve set the pictures down.

"Peggy knew you, too, Buck," Steve said. "You knew her during the war. She said you were great out there. You can see her again once she gets back from her business trip."

"I don't remember her," Bucky said.

"I know, Bucky," Steve said and he scooped up the pictures and crammed them into the album and put them away.


	6. 6

6

Bucky didn't know what he was doing. He had to continually remind himself where he was and who he was with and he frequently asked Steve for clarification again, but he finally remembered his name. His _and_ Steve's. It just took repetition, that was all.

He knew he was in pieces. He would sometimes be in the middle of a thought or a sentence and forget what he had been saying. He would ask Steve to repeat things he'd already said a hundred times.

And his head hurt so bad.

As far back as he could remember, his mind had always been mangled, but it had never been quite so bad. He thought Steve had something to do with it. He didn't know why, but every time he looked at him, a throbbing headache gripped his brain. Trying to answer Steve's questions hurt, too. Seeing him in that office the night before, Bucky could remember how much it had hurt. He'd looked at Steve's face and could hear his name from out of nowhere in his head and the pain had seized him so badly and so suddenly he couldn't stand. Confusion and fear froze him up. He'd never not been able to finish a mission before, at least, not as far as he could remember. And that was scary, because he didn't know what was happening to him and because the people who held him were not gentle. He didn't want to face them.

And then his whole head had exploded, looking at Steve, looking at that picture. He had thought for a second that he might be dying, but after a few minutes the pain let up and he was able to think Steve's name without it, at least for a while. He still felt the throbbing in the back of his skull. Being around Steve was rattling something big inside him and it made him lose his bearings and his train of thought and it hurt so bad.

He couldn't quite explain with accuracy how he felt. The emotions in his heart were complicated. He couldn't understand them all.


	7. 7

7

Steve didn't change out of his pajamas, and the clothes he had offered Bucky still sat, folded nicely on the table in the bedroom, untouched. Bucky looked so exhausted, and when he spoke, he slurred, so Steve left him alone again in the bedroom and shut off the lights and said he was going to pull something together for dinner, to wait and rest and get ready to go to bed early tonight.

Steve made soup and when he came back, the clothes were gone off the table and Bucky was under the covers, completely still. Steve could see his chest rise and fall a little, slowly, and he battled with himself about whether it'd be better that he wake up for a few more minutes to eat something, especially since he'd been taking pain pills for headaches all day and eating little, or if it would be better that he take this opportunity to sleep.

Steve sat down gingerly on his side of the bed and placed the soups on the table. Instead of folding up his clothes and putting them there, like Steve had done, Bucky had tossed his crumpled black clothes on the floor in the corner messily. At least some things were still the same, Steve thought.

Steve decided that he'd try gently to see if Bucky would wake up, but if he kept sleeping, he wouldn't bother him. Most of him wanted Bucky to keep sleeping.

He considered grabbing Bucky's shoulder, but he was worried that if he did, the chance would be too great that he would wake up, so instead, he found Bucky's hand just under the sheets and-oh! Steve was surprised to find his fingers decidedly not flesh, and cold. Steve felt shocked for a second and his first instinct was to throw off the blanket, but he realized he was scared to. He didn't know if he wanted to see what was going on. He felt a chill go down his spine. He felt up Bucky's wrist and found the same cold, metal under his fingers, and what felt like a thick collection of plastic wires under a metal plate on top of his wrist. Moved up his forearm, up his elbow, to his shoulder, and then horrified, Steve finally threw the covers off of Bucky's body. He found an entire left arm made out of dark silver, with metal plates partially veiling thick wires and gears and metal parts. He couldn't tell where it started or stopped because Bucky had put on the shirt he'd given him and it hid the rest of his chest. Steve didn't know what to think.

Disturbed by the blankets, Bucky stirred a little. Steve watched his eyelids flutter open tiredly.

"What happened to your arm?" Steve said. Bucky looked at him for a second, confused, and Steve watched as the now all-too-familiar fear seized him and Steve grabbed up both his wrists, metal and flesh, to stop him from moving away. He didn't want to go through the whole "deer in the headlights scrambling" thing anymore. When Bucky twisted, he could feel wires move and that chill gave him goosebumps again. "Hey, calm down, you're here, I'm Steve, you're Bucky, remember that?"

"I remember that," Bucky mumbled, his eyes wide.

"Then calm down for five seconds, okay? Nothing's happening, you're fine," Steve said and Bucky swallowed audibly.

"Okay," he stammered.

"Now what happened to your arm?" Steve asked again and Bucky's eyes travelled down from Steve's face to the left wrist he was holding and back up again.

"You mean the left one?" He said.

"No, the right one," Steve said sarcastically. "Of course the left one!"

"I don't know," Bucky said nonchalantly. "It's always been like that."

"It has not either always been like that," Steve said. Bucky shrugged weakly and Steve slowly put his wrists down. He sighed.

"Well, either way, it doesn't matter," he said, although it did matter. He was so confused and this was like nothing he'd ever seen before. His stomach twisted.

He sometimes felt like he was dreaming. Now was not one of those times.

"I made soup for dinner. And then you have to go right back to sleep," Steve finished.

Bucky sat up and accepted a bowl of soup and Steve sat cross-legged on the bed across from him, watching how his arm moved. They ate for a few minutes in silence and Steve finally spoke up again.

"I can't believe you're really here," he said. Bucky glanced up at him and then back down at his soup. He seemed to have gained his appetite back. Steve wondered if he'd stop inhaling noodles to respond. He didn't.

"Am I dreaming?" Steve said again. Bucky hesitated, his spoon halfway to his mouth, but he didn't seem to know what to say. "You don't have to answer," Steve said and Bucky finished putting the spoon to his mouth. "I know you're just as confused as I am, if not more." Bucky finished his soup and Steve traded him bowls and let him finish his as well. He watched his left arm move. Red and blue and black wires.

Steve set his bowl on the table and scooted around to Bucky's side and for once, Bucky let him without flinching away or appearing extremely uncomfortable.

"I'm going to hug you again," Steve said and Bucky finished the second bowl of soup and set it down on the bed. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky's shoulders and squeezed him and after a moment, Bucky brought up his arms and squeezed him gently back.


	8. 8

8

That night, Steve was woken up when a hand wrapped itself around his wrist and squeezed and he blinked his eyes open tiredly. The face in front of his in the dark held a finger up to her pursed lips.

"Peg?" Steve mumbled and Peggy clapped her hand over his mouth.

"Shh," she said and then released Steve's wrist to point behind him. Steve rolled over a little and followed her gaze to Bucky, curled up underneath the sheets, and it clicked.

"Oh, Peggy," Steve said. "Peggy, don't panic, okay? This is Bucky."

Bucky stirred a little in his sleep and Steve reached over to rouse him, but Peggy stopped him again. She studied his face with wide eyes and seemed to be at a loss for words. Steve smiled a little at her tiredly and leaned forward to peck her on the mouth. The moonlight illuminated the confusion in her face.

"Good to see you again, darling," he said. "You're home early."

Finally, Bucky rolled over a little to face them and started to sit up and when he saw Peggy, he blanched. Steve could see the muscles in his shoulders tensing and Steve tore his wrist away from Peggy and put both hands on Bucky, blocking his view of Peggy with his own face. Not the panicking, not again. He watched Bucky's frightened eyes refocus on his own and Steve squeezed his shoulders.

"It's fine, Buck, you're fine, I'm here and you're safe. I'm Steve, you know me and you're gonna be fine," he said, repeating himself over and over as more comforting things to say came to his mind. "Relax, you're okay."

"Ste-," Bucky breathed.

"Steve, yeah," Steve said. "And behind me, that's Peggy. You know her too, alright, and she knows you. You went to war together. She lives here with me."

"I-I," Bucky said. "Where am I, Steve?"

"In my apartment, remember? In my bed," Steve replied and Bucky nodded slowly.

"Okay," he whispered.

"Steve," Peggy said behind him and Bucky looked up and Steve could feel under his hands his body go rigid. He turned a little to face her.

"Look," he said quietly. "It's Bucky. He's alive. He came back."

Peggy had both hands over her mouth and her eyes were watering as she stared at Bucky over Steve's head. She approached him slowly and Bucky flinched away.

"Be gentle with him," Steve warned and then looked over at Bucky and cupped his cheek until Bucky's eyes settled on his again. "Relax," he commanded gently and Bucky nodded shakily. Peggy was on his side of the bed now and Bucky turned around and looked up at her and then Peggy collapsed into sobs. She sat down on the bed next to him and grabbed him and dragged him close to her with one hand pressing against his back and the other resting on the top of his hair, holding on for dear life, and Steve reached down to grip Bucky's right hand and make sure he didn't panic. Bucky squeezed Steve's hand so hard that Steve could hear his bones creaking, but Steve let him.

"How are you alive?" Peggy wept. "How are you here?"

"They took me," Bucky whispered in response hollowly, which was the first real answer that Steve had heard out of him, the first thing that made sense, and he wondered if anything was coming back to Bucky. Peggy squeezed him harder.

Later, she found his arm and rolled his sleeve up and Steve wasn't sure whether he let her because he was still so frozen with fear or that he was remembering the trust he used to have with her, but she had to hold back more tears as she ran her fingers over the plates and she cupped his metal-encased hand within hers and reached up to tuck his hair behind his ear and kiss his cheek. Bucky clung to Steve's sweaty hand and didn't let go.

"You poor thing," she whispered.

"I found him the night you left," Steve admitted. "He was in the office and he attacked me. He doesn't really remember who he is." Peggy looked over at him.

"The night I left?" Peggy said and Steve nodded.

"He said he was sent to kill the director," Steve said and his eyes flickered up to hers. "I figured that you must have gotten a heads-up. Some business trip, Peg."

"I did get a heads-up," Peggy said. "No one can try to assassinate me without me knowing."

"You _are_ good," Steve said with a smile. He was trying to make this situation normal. He didn't quite know how to do it.

Peggy only looked back over at Bucky.

"What did they do with you?" She asked him. Bucky tried to answer, but he couldn't put together a solid sentence. All he could get out was "don't remember, don't remember."

"Did they make you hurt people?" Peggy asked and Steve isn't sure what to think. What is she doing?

Bucky nodded a little weakly and Peggy looked down and swallowed her tears. "You poor thing," she choked again and she leaned in and pressed her forehead to his. Bucky squeezed Steve's hand harder. "We're gonna make this right."


	9. 9

9

Steve felt a little bit like he was spinning. He didn't know what was happening. He felt like he was living some sort of dream and real life just bled in a little during some small moments, where he had to grab Bucky and squeeze him and make sure he was really there, and where he stopped himself, sitting in bed, realizing that a dead person was sitting next to him, where his fingers brushed the wires on the inside of Bucky's wrist and he realized this was _real_. However he had not come down to earth all the way yet.

So he rolled with everything, the same way someone would do in a dream. Oh, Bucky's back from the dead? Great, take him home! He can't remember anything? Cool, just repeat yourself. He appears to have suffered some horrendous trauma? Well, Steve would just do the best he could to help.

In the morning, everything will be back to normal.

And because of that, Steve felt like he had to dance around everything. If he made one wrong move, the dream would shatter. He would do anything he had to to keep Bucky close to him.

Peggy was also shocked. When she had gone on her "business trip", she hadn't assumed she'd come home and find her potential assassin sleeping next to her husband-and moreover, that her potential assassin would be Barnes.

When she saw him, she knew everything had just become a lot more complicated. She'd been following a strange lead for a while, tracing unaccounted-for money in SHIELD's bank accounts, overhearing strange conversations, and she knew something was going on underneath the surface. She knew it had something to do with some of the shady people her board had voted to include in a few projects. She didn't have all the information she needed, but she had a gut feeling. Something was wrong with SHIELD and she was so close to finding out what it was.

And now, this? Barnes, back from the dead? Peggy felt as though her head was reeling. This was all connected somehow, she knew.

Bucky was the only one who wasn't shocked. He might have been, if he didn't also feel so much pain and fear and confusion. His headaches had slowly been improving, but he'd also been drinking in acetaminophen pills like water. He didn't remember when it had happened, but Steve had apparently placed the bottle next to the bed and since Bucky hadn't left the bed, he was getting into the habit of just leaning over and taking a handful whenever he felt ill. Steve hadn't noticed. He hated how much he was forgetting things. The pain whisked things away from him almost the minute he'd gotten them, as though he was trying to grab smoke. It was all he could do to pull himself together sometimes. He thought there were things he'd remembered, about the past, but they were gone as soon as they arrived.

So, exhausted from the pain and afraid of being seen somehow, Bucky had stayed locked up in Steve's room for the past two days and took too many pain meds and tried not to think too hard about everything that was happening to him and how confused and lost he felt.

He liked Steve. Whatever else was going on, he knew he trusted Steve. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he did. And Steve treated him kindly. He couldn't remember anyone doing that.

The night Peggy arrived, no one got much more sleep, even though they tried. Bucky thought he was going to be sent to the couch, but Peggy volunteered and Bucky stayed where he was, staring up at the ceiling.

"Steve," he whispered into the dark after everything had settled.

"Yes," Steve replied. Bucky was quiet for a moment. He was thinking. "Buck?" Steve said.

"Her name is Peggy?" He clarified.

"Yes," Steve said again. "You knew her." Bucky was quiet for another moment.

"I'm confused," he whispered.

"What about?" Steve asked.

"Everything," Bucky said.

"Didn't the photo albums help?" Steve asked.

"What photo albums?" Bucky said. There was a pause in the conversation. Bucky's heart sank.

"Uh," Steve said. "I showed you some photo albums. I tried to explain everything."

Bucky swallowed quietly and turned over so he was lying on his side. He'd lost that. He was so disoriented. He hated it.

"I can do it again," Steve said.

"Okay," Bucky replied.

In the morning, Steve brought out books of pictures and explained Bucky's whole life and it sounded vaguely familiar to Bucky, but he couldn't tell if it really was or if he was just confused again. He tried to commit each detail to his memory as best he could.

Steve finished by describing what he'd been doing in the lapse of time that Bucky had been gone and Bucky stared at the pictures in his hands. There was a throbbing starting up in the front of his skull.

No, no, no, no, Bucky thought. Stop, I've got to keep this this time.

"What happened to me after I 'died'?" Bucky asked. Steve shrugged and looked over at him.

"I don't know," he said. "You said they took you, you said that last night."

"I did," Bucky agreed.

"Do you know who they are?" Steve asked. Bucky closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his right hand, where black ink was smeared in his palm. He thought they had been letters once. He didn't know what they said. His head hurt.

"No," he said and although they had just woken up and had been sitting, he laid back down and put his pillow over his head.

He thought maybe he could take in a little at once. Just a little information, and then when it started to hurt, he could stop and just concentrate on keeping what he'd gained. That's what he tried to do underneath his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.

The mattress creaked and Steve got up and Bucky heard the door shut behind him.


	10. 10

10

"What's going on," Steve said to Peggy once he shut the door.

"What makes you think I know any more than you," Peggy replied.

"I can tell," Steve said. "I know you too well."

Peggy was sitting up on the couch and she leaned over the back of it to see him, holding back a yawn. Steve walked over to her and met her on the other side of the couch back, taking her face in his hands and bending down just enough to kiss the tip of her nose. Mouth kisses were saved for after they'd both brushed their teeth. He brushed her hair back and she put her hands gently on his wrists.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

"I'm fine," Steve said.

"You're not," she said.

"What makes you think you know better than me how I feel?" Steve challenged. Peggy smiled a little and parroted him.

"I can tell," she said teasingly, but their smiles were short-lived.

"Are you taking your medicine?" She asked.

"Of course I am," Steve said.

"You looked away from my eyes," Peggy said. Steve took his hands back and turned around, walking towards the kitchen.

"You don't have to hover over me about it, Peg. I took it yesterday, I took it the day before that," Steve said and he opened the fridge.

"If I ask Barnes, will he back you up?" Peggy asked.

"If you ask Barnes, he'll say he doesn't remember," Steve replied and when he said that, he felt as though he'd been stabbed in the gut. Bam, the real world again, coming to remind him that this wasn't a dream. Steve took a breath.

They were quiet for a moment.

"How is he now?" Peggy asked quietly.

"He's lying in bed with a pillow over his face," Steve said. There was an edge of spite, or anger in his voice. He didn't know exactly where it came from. "Like he has been for the past two days." Steve took the orange juice out of the fridge and turned around. He used it to gesture towards her. "You know something about this," he said and uncapped it and took a swig. Peggy sighed.

"I know there's something wrong with SHIELD," she said. "That's really _all_ I know. Whoever did this to him," she paused. "Well, I'd be willing to bet they're some of our coworkers."

Steve set the carton of orange juice on the counter and began pulling out pancake mix.

"What's the special occasion?" Peggy asked, noticing the pancake bag.

"My best friend came back from the dead," Steve said.


	11. 11

11

In all reality, Steve knew Bucky liked pancakes (even if Bucky himself didn't know that) and he wanted to coax him out. Get him to sit at the kitchen table. Maybe talk a little more. Do something other than stare at the wall.

Peggy stood and began helping him. He asked her where she'd gone and she told him she'd missed him and teased him and Steve felt a little bit of stress that he hadn't known was there leave his heart when she smiled playfully at him.

"Does he know?" Peggy asked after a quiet moment. Steve was pouring batter onto a hot skillet and he glanced up at her questioningly. "The diagnosis," she said and he sighed heavily. He barred the onslaught of emotions from his heart. He was getting good at it.

"No," he said.

"When are you going to tell him?" Peggy asked. Steve watched bubbles pop on the cooking pancake. He swallowed.

"I hadn't really gotten that far, you know," he said. "I'm kind of taking this one day at a time-if that." He flipped the pancake. Peggy leaned over the stovetop and kissed him on the corner of his lips. "Would you tell him to come out here?" He asked.

"I think he'd respond better to you," she said.

"He knows you just as well as he knows me just as well as he knows anyone," Steve said exhaustedly. Although he'd just woken up he felt like he'd been awake for days. "Which is to say, not at all."

"When I said we'd make this right, Steve, I meant it," Peggy said. Steve handed her his spatula and walked into the bedroom.

Bucky hadn't moved from his position pressing his face into the mattress. Steve walked over and knelt down on his side of the bed. Bucky's right arm was laying over the pillow that was laying on his face and Steve picked up one corner and pulled it up a little.

"Buck, are you in there?" He asked. "I made breakfast." He heard Bucky take in a deep breath and let it out and then he started to shift, pulling himself up. Steve got another good look at his left arm. Bucky's face was red and he had lines from the pillow pressed into his cheek. His hair was disheveled. "You ready for this?" Steve asked and in response, Bucky only tossed the sheets off of himself and swung his legs down. "I made pancakes," Steve said, trying to get some sort of response out of him, anything, but Bucky avoided his eyes.

Steve felt like he was begging, but he didn't know what else to say.

Before Bucky left the bedroom, he looked at Steve.

"There are no open windows in there?" He asked.

"Course not, Buck," Steve replied. Bucky wet his lips anxiously and nodded and allowed Steve to continue herding him into the kitchen.

At the table, they ate over silence.

"We need to think of a plan," Peggy said quietly. Steve glanced over at Bucky, who was inhaling his pancakes.

"Buck, you need to start telling us when you're hungry instead of just waiting until you're starving," Steve said.

"These are really good," Bucky replied with a full mouth.

"Thanks, I made them myself," Steve said and then allowed himself to crack a bit of a smile. "Peggy says her pancakes are better, but you've got to agree that mine are the best. I put vanilla in there, you know." Bucky had his head ducked over his plate and was looking up at him and Steve saw him crack the smallest smile as well. A split second of normalcy.

"Peggy will make hers sometime and you can tell us which is the best, okay?" Steve said.

"Okay," Bucky said.

"But you gotta vote for me, alright," Steve continued and Bucky's smile widened just a little.

"Okay," he said again.

"Hold on, that's cheating," Peggy said and Steve looked at her, his smile almost full-blown by now.

"Come on, Pegs, give me something here, you beat me at everything else," he teased and she smiled at him. He knew her, he could tell she wanted to bring up the plan again, but she was holding it back. Bucky was almost smiling! This was monumental.

They talked lightly for a few more minutes until Steve remembered that he had a long series of pills to take and his mood fell a little.

Then Peggy asked Bucky how he'd slept and he muttered some comment about how the headaches made it hard for him to sleep and Steve got up and took a few trips to bring back a second plate of pancakes and the bottle of tylenol for Bucky and the box of medications for himself.

After breakfast, Steve and Peggy had to figure out what to do about work. Peggy had gone into the bedroom to change and after a minute, Steve followed her and left Bucky at the kitchen table where he was turning the bottle of tylenol in his fingers thoughtlessly.

Steve shut the bedroom door behind him. Peggy was pulling her nightgown up over her head and she tossed it on the unmade bed behind her. Steve walked over to the closet next to her and leaned up against the wall and watched her clip on her bra.

"What are we going to do?" He asked quietly.

"About what, in specifically?" Peggy asked and she pulled a skirt on.

"Well, first, work," he said.

"You didn't go yesterday," Peggy said, looking through shirts. Steve let out a breath.

"Of course you know about that," Steve said and his jaw ticked. Peggy hesitated for a second and her eyes flickered over to Steve. For a second it seemed as though she didn't know what to say. Then, she said, "Steve."

"No, I didn't go yesterday. Bucky was here and I couldn't just leave him," Steve said.

"I'm not accusing you," Peggy said. Steve stared at the ground angrily.

"He needs someone to help him. He gets disoriented," Steve said.

"You don't have to defend yourself," Peggy continued.

"I'm not," Steve said.

"You are," Peggy replied. Steve glared and looked up.

"I said I'm not," he said and he didn't mean to, but he raised his voice a little. Peggy looked at him, her eyes hurt and they searched his face and Steve took another deep breath. "I'm-" he started.

"No, stop," Peggy interrupted him and she grabbed a blouse out of the closet and put her arms through it. "You don't have to apologize. You've been tense ever since I got back, I understand."

"I shouldn't take it out on you," Steve said. Peggy started to button up her blouse.

"You're overwhelmed," Peggy said. Steve swallowed and nodded. He looked at her.

"I didn't even get to welcome you properly," he said.

"That's true," Peggy said.

"I've been too busy being rude," Steve added and Peggy smiled a little at him.

"It's not too late to welcome me," she said and Steve grinned back. He started to lean in and Peggy stepped away teasingly. She scooped her shoes up from off the floor and sat on the bed and started to strap them on. Steve followed her and knelt down to his knees in front of her slowly. He took the shoe from her with one hand and reached up with the other to pull her towards him and meet her lips. The tips of her curls brushed his face and he twisted his fingers gently around the hair at the nape of her neck. She spread out her fingers on his face and neck and he leaned in closer, leaning over her folded knees. He dropped the shoe to the floor and used his free hand to place on her waist.

Peggy wrapped her fingers around the collar of Steve's shirt and pulled him and he followed her. They stumbled together backwards onto the bed, Steve fumbling and tripping and he grabbed Peggy's shoulders to balance himself as they tumbled. She laughed and pecked kisses on his lips as they rearranged themselves onto the bed. He could feel the stress slowly start to fade away, just a little bit, as he kissed his way down Peggy's neck and shared silly laughter with her.

"Don't go to work today," Peggy said as Steve was halfway down her neck, her hands under his shirt, her breath on his cheek. He hesitated for half a second and kept going.

He wanted to respond, but he didn't know what to say. He hated missing work, but Bucky needed him.

His lips brushed her skin and he thought about it for a second.

It wasn't really a decision. Work or Bucky. He'd already made that choice a long time ago.

"Don't let them count it as one of my sick days," Steve said between kisses. "Cover for me."

"Of course," Peggy said.

They both knew Peggy didn't have much time left before she had to leave, so they pulled away from each other reluctantly. Peggy finished dressing and Steve changed into a clean pair of clothes and he kissed her goodbye in front of the door and a few minutes after she'd left, he dashed into the bathroom and started vomiting into the toilet.

 _Hi everyone! Thank you for reading 'Anything to Keep You'! I hope you've been liking it so far !_

 _I'm posting a note to let everyone know that for this next week, I'm going to be traveling. I'm going to attempt to keep posting as much as I can, but it'll be complicated, so I'm sorry in advance for the interruption!_

 _-BlitheBells_


	12. 12

12

Bucky was standing in the doorway looking shocked when Steve finally stopped coughing and sat back on the ground. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and made a sick groan.

"Well don't just stand there," he said weakly. "Get me a towel or a cup of water or something." Bucky disappeared from the door in an instant and Steve leaned his head back against the wall and moaned a little, fighting the nausea that still turned his stomach. He supposed it was good he didn't go to work today after all. It _was_ a sick day.

Bucky came back in an instant with an armful of kitchen towels and a cup so full of water that it was spilling down the sides. Steve took it and washed out his mouth and spit into the toilet and used the towels to clean up his face. He felt like he was sweating.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah," Steve said and he tried to stand and nearly collapsed. Bucky lunged forward and caught him. Steve could feel metal plates and wires pressed against his back through the thin shirt he had on and he slung his arms around Bucky's neck and clung to him. "I'm fine," he said unconvincingly.

"Maybe lay down," Bucky said. He helped Steve stumble out of the bathroom and lay down in the bed and then Bucky knelt down next to him. "What's wrong?" He asked.

Steve looked at Bucky and saw the opportunity to tell him and decided not to.

"I think I ate too much at breakfast," he said instead.

Bucky, as confused as ever, didn't quite know what to do. He was getting used to the feeling.

"What can I do for you?" He asked quietly.

"Nothing to do," Steve replied and he sucked in a deep breath. His face looked green and all the pink had drained out of his cheeks.

Bucky climbed into bed next to him and covered them both with the blankets.

"I hate being sick," Steve said spitefully.

"I'm sorry," Bucky said. Then, "are you going to go back to sleep?"

"No," Steve said.

"Me either," Bucky said.

"How's your head?" Steve mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow he was pressing his face into.

"Fine," Bucky said.

Truth be told, he was just getting used to the constant dull pain to the point he didn't notice it as much anymore, but he didn't mention it to Steve.

That day, at lunch, Bucky was the one who got up and went into the kitchen and tried to find something to bring back to Steve to eat. He found cans of soup and vegetables and beans and so he grabbed the first few cans on the shelf and cut them open and heated them all up in separate pots on the stove and brought them to Steve in bowls.

Steve was falling in and out of sleep, his pencil leaving sleepy, unintentional trails down his pad of drawing paper every time his eyes fluttered closed, and as Bucky brought each bowl in and set it on the table, he woke a little more and sat up.

"Wow, Buck," he said slowly, looking over the food.

"No one ever said I could cook," Bucky said defensively and he grabbed a bowl of beans and sat on his side of the bed. Steve leaned over the table before picking a bowl of soup and he leaned back and grinned at Bucky.

"Thanks," he said. Bucky nodded and moved the beans around in his bowl.

"Are you feeling any better?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah," Steve said. Then, "Bucky I want to help you remember." Bucky looked over at Steve, then back down.

"I, uh," he said. "I'm just kind of concentrating on, you know, staying alive. Right now," he said. "And, I dunno, making sure my head doesn't explode."

"I think we've been handling both of those pretty well," Steve said. Bucky pursed his lips. Steve didn't really get it. He had a hard time retaining information, let alone recalling information, stuff long since forgotten. He couldn't do it. And to be honest, he wasn't sure if he wanted to. The slivers of memories that came back to him just to leave him again left him with a bad taste in his mouth. He couldn't remember what they were, but they made him want to cry. He was perfectly fine without that, thank you very much.

Bucky opened and closed his mouth for a while, debating what to say.

"I don't want to remember," he said as quietly as he could.

"What?" Steve said.

Bucky repeated himself louder.

"Why?" Steve asked.

"It hurts too much," Bucky said.

Steve was quiet for a moment.

"Bucky," he finally said. "I love you. If you don't wanna do it, then we won't do it." Bucky considered this.

"Why," he said after a while. "Are you doing all this for me. Who are you to me?"

"I just said I love you," Steve said with a 'duh' sort of tone. "I'm your best friend."

"How do I know?" Bucky said.

"Well, I guess, if I treat you right, you know," Steve said.

"How did you say I got here again?" Bucky asked.

"I found you and took you home," Steve said. Bucky closed his eyes and nodded.

"Where did you find me?" He asked. He was talking too much. Or thinking too much. Or doing something too much, because his headache was starting to spike.

"My office at SHIELD," Steve admitted, as though he didn't want to say it. "Remember? You were sent by someone to kill Peggy." The spike took a dramatic turn and Bucky dropped his spoon into his bowl and made a sound as though the air had been punched out of him and he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead. He really thought for a second that he might be dying and tears of pain wet his eyelashes.

Steve was still speaking, but Bucky couldn't hear through the rush of blood in his ears. He thought he dropped the bowl too and he buckled over. He could feel, as though in another world, hands on his shoulders and he laid down on the mattress and used the crook of his arm to shut out the light.

A few minutes later, the pounding, imploding pain subsided and he realized he'd been whimpering and he stopped.

Steve had one hand on his head and the other on his shoulder and he'd moved over on the mattress to be in a position to see his face. Bucky wiped at his eyes with his fingertips.

"You're okay, you're alright, I'm here, it's okay," Steve was saying, but his voice was shaking.

Bucky felt like all the energy had been taken out of him. He couldn't stop more tears from coursing down his cheeks. If anyone had asked him why, he wouldn't have been able to tell them exactly.

"I think that's enough remembering for today," Steve said quietly. He scooted closer and pressed his forehead to Bucky's and Bucky felt Steve's fingers find his and squeeze. "Rest. Don't think about it too hard. You're okay, you're okay."

"Thank you," Bucky whispered and in response, Steve only reached over and pulled over the other corner of the blanket to wrap Bucky up in.

"You don't have to thank me for anything, Buck," Steve said. "This is just what best friends do."


	13. 13

13

When Peggy returned home, she found Bucky and Steve still wrapped up in blankets, sitting in the bed, playing cards. There was a stack of books and drawing pads on the table next to them. Bucky had managed to pull his hair back in a knot at the back of his head. Peggy left the bedroom door open behind her and sat on the edge of the bed, setting down bags and leaning over to unbuckle her shoes.

"It looks like you figured out how to entertain yourselves," she said. "Have you been in bed all day again?"

"Steve's sick," Bucky said quietly and Peggy glanced over at Steve questioningly. Steve looked up at her sheepishly over his cards.

"I ate too much at breakfast," he said pointedly, raising his eyebrows.

"He says he'll feel better tomorrow," Bucky added nonchalantly as he shuffled the cards in his hand. Peggy's eyes flashed at Steve and Steve looked away. He coughed a little.

"So anyway, how was work," Steve said.

"Fine," Peggy said, deciding not to push it. Steve would have to tell Bucky at some point, but she wouldn't rush him.

In truth, she felt on edge. Everyone she passed in the hall could be someone who had secrets. It could be George, the secretary. It could be Matilda, the accountant. "There was an issue with the punch cards. Looks like you still have 7 sick days left." Steve smiled a little behind his cards.

"You got any aces?" He asked Bucky.

"Go fish," Bucky said.

"Bucky, I got you something," Peggy said and she picked up one of the bags on the floor and brought it up to the bed. Bucky looked over, surprised. "Steve's clothes won't fit you very well, and mine won't either, so I just picked up a few shirts and pants that I thought might be your size."

Bucky set down his cards distractedly and began sifting through the bag. Steve took this opportunity to memorize his hand.

Bucky pulled out a few simple, button-up shirts and slacks and he made a face, chewing on his bottom lip. He cleared his throat.

"Thanks," he said.

"Don't thank me yet," Peggy said and she smiled at him. "We don't even know if they fit you right yet." Bucky put the clothes back into the bag and looked away and Steve leaned over and slung his arm around him. Bucky dropped his head on Steve's shoulder and sucked in a shuddering breath.

"Good move," Steve mouthed to Peggy.

Once Bucky pulled himself together, he tried everything on. It all fit well and he grinned widely at Peggy, grateful. Peggy smiled back, struck to see him smile like that.

"Really, thank you," Bucky said.

Later that evening, Bucky even consented to having Steve cut his hair.

"Look, those people you're scared of won't even recognize you anymore, Buck," he said and Bucky smiled at himself cautiously in the mirror.

When Bucky and Steve came out of the bathroom, Peggy was lying on the bed, looking through the photo albums that had been left on the floor by the bed. She looked up and gave her approval.

"That looks very nice, Bucky," Peggy said.

"I'm gonna put something together for dinner," Steve said and Peggy looked over.

"No, hold on, you come here and lay down," Peggy instructed as Steve speed-walked out of the room.

"Too late, I'm gone!" He shouted from the kitchen and Peggy rolled her eyes as Bucky sat down gingerly at the edge of the bed. She looked over at him, his hair cut short. He was running his hand over it, looking like a new person in his crisp new shirt and slacks.

"You look just like you did during the war," Peggy said, trying to be supportive, and Bucky turned around to look at her. His eyes slid down to the bed and he pressed his lips together.

"How long ago was that?" He asked.

"Almost six years ago," she said.

"What was it like?" He said.

"You understand that's a difficult question," Peggy replied. Bucky's eyes shifted back up to hers.

"Every question has been kind of difficult lately," he remarked and Peggy nodded.

"That's true," she said and then she got up off the bed and came over to Bucky's side and sat down next to him. "But I said I'm going to fix this and I am." Bucky looked over at her and for a second she really did feel like she'd stepped back in time and there they were again, fighting. He studied her face and she watched his eyes.

"I trust you," he said quietly. "You and Steve." Peggy swallowed and nodded and then she put her arm around him and pulled him close and kissed the top of his head.

"Good," she said. "Because we love you."

 _Hey everyone! I'm back! Thank you for being patient!_

 _-BB_


	14. 14

14

"Buck, if I go to work today, can you just lay low here until we get back?" Steve asked Bucky the next morning, kneeling by his bed. Bucky blinked, just waking up, and stretched a little.

"Yeah," he said. "You feel better?" Steve smiled at him.

"I feel great," he lied.

And so Steve pulled himself together and went back to work and for the first few days, it went pretty well. Bucky was bored out of his mind, but he stayed safe in the apartment and he had less headaches when he was by himself. Steve loved working, getting out of the house, doing something important. He loved working with Peggy.

On Thursday, Steve's luck with work ran out.

He and Peggy had discussed that they had to be subtle. No one could know that they were on to something. And they discussed a few ideas about what might be happening, who might be behind it.

Steve was in the copy room, printing a few files, when something came through the fax machine next to him. Normally, Steve wasn't a snooping sort of person, but what with everything going on, he figured it might be good to keep an eye on things.

He leaned over and looked at the fax as it came through. For a while, it looked normal and Steve laughed at himself for thinking it could be some sort of clue. Where was he, in some sort of spy movie? Of course it was normal.

Then, something caught his eye.

"Limited leads on disappearance of Codename: Winter Soldier. Director Carter is unaware, but we have reason to suspect she's suspicious…"

Steve picked up the fax, his eyes flying as he tried to skim it all.

At the bottom of the page was the word 'Hydra', and Steve recognized it, but he wasn't sure from where. Then, the door across the small room opened and Arthur Murphy walked in. Steve looked up and stared at him. Murphy looked from the fax machine up to the paper in Steve's hands.

"Sorry," he mumbled and stepped forward and before Steve could react, he grabbed it out of his hand. "Kind of in a hurry." And Murphy stepped back out again just as fast as he'd entered and Steve felt something sick squeezing his stomach.

Steve burst out of the copy room and started as fast as he could for Peggy's office, his mind reeling. They had to do something! They had to use this! It was proof!

Steve was so concentrated on speed walking, he didn't notice someone slip out of a closet behind him until they'd already grabbed him. Steve panicked once hands wrapped around his arms and chest and he started to thrash. Someone shoved a sock into his mouth and wrapped tape over it. A pillowcase was pulled over his head and he choked on the wool, feeling his gag reflex kick and his stomach twisted terribly. Then, something, someone's knee maybe, rammed hard into his gut and he screamed. He hit the ground and the hands on him began to pull. Steve thrashed and kicked as hard as he could, but there were at least three pairs of hands on him and someone grabbed his ankles so tight he thought they'd bruise. He thought they were taking him down stairs. He couldn't scream without choking on the sock. Tape was being wrapped tightly around his wrists and ankles.

He was thrown onto cold cement hard. A kick landed in his ribcage and Steve started to try to scoot away desperately. More kicks came, though, from all sides, in his gut and his back and his legs and his face. He couldn't see and he couldn't scream and panic was rocketing through his whole body. Someone grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him up and the back of his head smacked against a cement wall. More knees in his gut and he felt knuckles pound his jaw so hard he thought for a minute it would come out of the joint.

"Wait!" Someone cried and for a second, the hits stopped coming. Steve was let go and he fell to the ground directly on his face. He was in so much pain. He thought one of his ribs was broken. He felt sticky blood making his shirt cling to his skin. He saw stars. He thought he might vomit, or pass out. For a moment, all he could hear was his own heavy, shaky breathing.

"You're gonna kill him," the same voice said.

"We thought-" another voice said.

"Shut up," the first voice cut them off. There was another moment of silence. Steve could hear someone pacing. "It's too obvious. This isn't how it's supposed to be done." He started to try to struggle to his feet and as he was about to shakily stand, something thick and hard came out of nowhere and hit him in the stomach. He hit the ground again and a fierce nausea gripped him. He started to cough, trying to push the sock out of his mouth.

"Here's what we're going to do," the voice continued. Steve barely heard over the pain and his heaving stomach. He felt choked. Through the bag on his head, the floor was cold on his face. The blood on his body was hot. "You all are going to get out of here. I'm going to fix this." Steve listened to the shuffling as his attackers left and he wanted to try to stand again, but he didn't think he could. His whole body hurt so much. His rib screamed. He was hyperventilating. He was trying as hard as he could to suppress an asthma attack.

Hands wrapped around his collar again and heaved him up to a sitting position. He was shaking violently. He was slumping; the only thing holding him up was the hands of whoever had him.

"And here's the deal for you, Carter," the voice said. "No one's going to take you seriously because no one ever takes you seriously. And you're gonna forget everything you saw back there, right?" Steve shook.

A hand reached up under the bag over his face and ripped the tape off his mouth. Steve spit the sock out as fast as he could and started screaming.

"Get your hands off me!" He yelled. "HELP! SOMEONE HELP!"

Something stabbed him in the leg. His screams took a shrill leap.

"Forget it all," the voice commanded. Steve screamed. The knife in his leg twisted and then a hand grabbed his face. "This doesn't involve you. You say anything, we got people who can hurt you worse, you hear? Next time you get into this, we won't hesitate again to kill you."

The knife was yanked out of his leg and Steve was released. He collapsed to the ground, gasping. He could hear the person walking away and he started trying to take the bag off his head. He shimmied against the ground as best he could until the bag slipped of his face. The light was bright and he blinked. He was starting to black out. He was covered in blood. He couldn't get the tape off his hands from behind his back.

He was still screaming, but his screams were becoming weaker.

A figure came into view and Steve started to scoot away as best he could.

"Carter?" The figure cried. Murphy. Steve started to cough sickly, feeling his stomach heave.

"Murphy, you're a part of this, you lying, son of a-" Steve started coughing harder.

"What happened to you?" Murphy cried. Steve's vision went black and then he lost consciousness.


	15. 15

15

Steve woke up 20 minutes later in SHIELD's nurse's office. They were still putting pressure on the knife wound in his leg and Steve saw his vision go fuzzy again. He gripped the edges of the bed he was lying on with both hands as hard as he could and tried to force himself to stay conscious.

"Peggy," he breathed.

"I'm here," Peggy said from his side. He looked over and saw her, looking panicked."What happened?"

"I got attacked," he said. "It's Murphy! Murphy, he's a liar, he's one of them-"

"Steve, Murphy found you," Peggy said. "He brought you here."

"Cause he's _covering for them_!" Steve raised his voice.

"Steve," Peggy said and Steve struggled to sit up, but the nurse shoved him back down again.

"Stay still," she said.

"Peggy," Steve said. Peggy found his hand and squeezed it. She looked pointedly at him.

"Steve, please," she said. "You're getting worked up." Steve recognized the sign in her eyes, _lay low_ , but he couldn't stop himself.

"Worked UP?!" He cried. "I almost got beat to death!"

"Steve, we'll talk about it later, please just rest," Peggy said and she squeezed his hand hard. Steve squeezed back and let out an angry breath and glared up at the ceiling instead.

Later, they made the police report. Steve told his side of the story and accused Murphy vehemently. He knew he hadn't actually seen Murphy do anything, but he was certain he had something to do with it. Murphy told his side of the story as well, saying he'd gone out to take out the garbage to the dumpster and heard Steve screaming. He'd dragged him out of the alley and back into the building.

The worst part was when Steve insisted on seeing the video footage of the hallways where he'd been. He was sure he could prove something that way, but somehow, nothing showed up on camera. Steve raged, until they found a video of him walking out the front door-not being dragged, not tied up, nothing. Just walking, alone, out the front door. 30 minutes later the footage showed Murphy leave and come back dragging Steve behind him.

Steve stared with his mouth open. He sat back on the hospital bed in the nurse's office, stunned silent and horrified.

"That's not what happened," he said. "That's not, that didn't happen." The police officers exchanged looks and wrote on pads of paper.

At home, Bucky was lying on the ground in his pajamas trying to build a house of cards (the boredom drove him to mindless pastimes) when he heard the door slam loudly and he jerked so violently all his cards collapsed. It was too early for Steve and Peggy to be back. Something was wrong.

"He was _lying_ , Peggy, I could tell!" Someone yelled and Bucky stopped. It sounded like Steve.

"That was stupid, Steve!" Another voice yelled back. "You gave us away! Our only defense was that they didn't know that we knew! And what about the security tapes?"

"They were messed with, something, I don't know!"

What was going on? Bucky held still, ready to jump, leftover fear still holding him hostage.

They argued loudly for a few more moments and Bucky dragged himself to his feet, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. Loud, sudden noises didn't do any favors for him, that was for sure. He made it to the door and cracked it open, leaning against the doorframe. Steve was sitting at the kitchen table, leaning back uncomfortably, covered in gauze and tape and he and Peggy were both in tears. Steve noticed Bucky by the door and, seeing his face, some of the anger melted from his shoulders. Peggy followed his gaze and turned.

"What's going on," Bucky said.

They were silent for a moment and Peggy folded her arms tightly.

"It's a long story," Steve said hoarsely after a minute.

"You scared me," he replied. "The door, the, uh, I," he stammered. Steve looked at him and swallowed.

"I'm sorry, Buck," he said quietly.

"What happened to you," Bucky said.

"I got attacked," Steve said and Bucky didn't know how to respond.

"Are you okay?" He finally said quietly. Peggy collapsed into a chair on the other side of the table and put her head in her hands.

"Yeah," Steve replied after a minute.

Bucky entered the room cautiously.

"They know we know," Peggy said. "We blew it."

"What else were we supposed to do?" Steve said, turning back to her. "They saw me look at that paper. What else could I have done."

Bucky took a seat at the table and watched them. Steve was covered in gauze. His right eye was covered with a makeshift patch and his jaw was purple and swollen. His clothes were covered in dried blood. He'd rolled his sleeves up and his arms were covered in gauze and bruises, too. Bucky's eyes lingered on the dark colors and he felt sick. He rubbed his hands together anxiously and pressed his fingers into the tight red wires under his wrist.

"Steve, what did that paper say?" Peggy asked and Steve sighed and furrowed his brow, thinking.

"Honestly, some stuff I didn't understand," He said. "Something called Winter Soldier, when it started."

BAM

 _winter soldier_

Bucky felt the ground drop out from under him. He sucked in a breath and his hands searched something solid to hold on to. Images flashed in his head so fast he couldn't be sure what they were. His headache spiked again. The fear he couldn't explain wrenched at his heart again.

"Bucky?" Steve said. "What's wrong?"

"I think," Bucky choked out. "That's me. They mean me." His head pounded. The light seemed too bright.

Peggy and Steve exchanged glances.

"Maybe you ought to sit this one out, Buck," Steve said quietly. "You'll, uh, your headaches."

"No, I can stay," Bucky heard himself say, although he knew he was wrong. "I can help."

"Alright," Steve said after a minute. "But take it easy, okay?"

Steve continued to explain everything he'd seen on the paper, pulling together conclusions.

"It said something about, um," Steve hesitated again, for Bucky's sake. Bucky was still trying to scrub away the words 'winter soldier' from his mind and he was starting to succeed, the pain receding and white spots fading from his vision. He pulled himself together. He resented that Steve had to censor himself. "Said something about, uh, Hydra?" Steve tried the word carefully. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth and tried not to show how much pain spiked in his head. He folded his arms on the table and dropped his head into them exhaustedly. He felt Steve's hands on his shoulders.

"Come on," he was saying. "Come lay down, you don't have to do this now."

"It's uh," Bucky stammered, his voice muffled and weak, his head still down. Steve was pulling him gently. "They're an, an organization. They w-want… To take over SHIELD."

"They what?" Peggy exclaimed.

"Bucky, come on," Steve said. Bucky felt like something was drilling into the back of his head. He took deep breaths.

"Where's the Tylenol," he muttered. What he really _wished_ he had was a morphine drip.

"Come on, you've helped a lot already, trust me, don't hurt yourself," Steve was saying. Bucky relented finally and let Steve pull him up. He stood and fell into Steve's arms. Steve half-walked half-dragged Bucky towards the bedroom door until Bucky decided he could do it on his own and unsteadily pulled himself away. With one hand on his head and the other on the wall, he found his way to the door, ready to put a pillow over his head and try to pretend nothing bad had ever happened to him.

"You don't think they know where he is?" Bucky heard Peggy say under her breath to Steve as Bucky shut the bedroom door behind him. He strained to hear Steve hesitate and respond.

"We gotta hide him soon," he said.


	16. 16

16

That night, although it's technically Bucky's turn to sleep on the couch, Peggy and Steve manage to 'forget' again and insist he stay in the bed. He thinks they don't want him to be alone. He's glad. He doesn't want to be alone.

Peggy argued with Steve about it too, because he hadn't been feeling well and he just got the snot beaten out of him, she told him she'd already called the couch and that was the end of it.

Peggy and Steve wanted to find Bucky a better place to hide, but they didn't know where yet. Steve told Bucky that they'd leave for, well, somewhere, first thing in the morning.

That night, Bucky didn't get much sleep. He was thinking about the words 'Winter Soldier'. He didn't want to remember any of it. He didn't know if he ever would. He'd rather stay right where he was, hidden in Steve and Peggy's apartment, avoiding everything. He could live the rest of his life like that, he thought, hiding. He wasn't ready for anything else.

He watched Steve sleep. There wasn't much light in the room, but the light that came through from small slits in the blinds arched across Steve's bruised face. Bucky frowned at those bruises.

Maybe if you weren't hiding all the time, you'd be there to help him out a little, Bucky thought to himself and suddenly, he felt guilty. Steve was out there, with bad people, and Peggy too, and they were really all he had in the world. He'd let them go out there all alone? While he stayed inside because, what? He was too scared? Bucky scoffed.

Then, Bucky watched as the lines of light on Steve's face vanished into darkness. Dread sunk into him. Something was at the window.

In that same second, the window slid open fast and figures in black crawled in. Bucky was frozen with fear, until he saw one of them point a gun at him and he jumped out of the way. A bullet hit the wall behind him and Bucky yelled out.

There were three attackers. Bucky steeled himself and leapt off of the bed towards the first one. They weren't going to do anything to Steve, not Steve, not Peggy, not him. He tackled the figure to the floor and, with a snarl, drew back his fist and cracked the man's nose up into his face. Blood spurted and the man screamed and Steve started yelling. Bullets were flying and Bucky dodged them. He hoped Steve knew to stay down. He took a risk and leapt at the person with the gun. A bullet nipped his side and he heard one sink into his left shoulder. He took the gun from the man's hands and shot him right in the face. Then, he whirled around and shot once more in between the last assailant's eyes. Blood splattered across the wall. Bucky ran over to the window and stuck his head out. One more figure in black, waiting under the window, a sitting duck. Bucky shot them, too.

Peggy had burst into the room and hit the ground to avoid the spray of bullets. She jumped to her feet now and flicked on the light switch. Steve was sitting in bed, looking stunned and scared. Peggy had her feet squared and her shoulders up, tense.

"What happened?" She exclaimed. Bucky let the gun fall from his hands.

He didn't answer.

They asked him more questions, but he got back into bed and put the pillow over his face and refused to respond.


	17. 17

17

The next few days were something of a whirlwind. Peggy slid the broken window and bullet holes by the landlord and the police with the excuse 'SHIELD business', which was an excuse that had actually gotten her out of a lot of trouble on various occasions. The attack had become big news, although they were sure that Hydra had meant to remain covert. There was a police report. SHIELD was buzzing. The council was jittery. They'd hidden Bucky and patched up his bullet wound the best they could, lucky that it had just grazed him. They were too nervous about messing anything up to try and dig the bullet out of the metal in his shoulder, but there was a big hole, even though everything else seemed unaffected. They were staying in a hotel a few streets away while the police covered the crime scene in red tape and they had Bucky meet them there as stealthily as he could dressed in a long coat with the hood up. (When he made it safely 20 minutes behind them, he collapsed into their arms and asked them not to leave him again.)

The official story was that when the agents broke in, Peggy and Steve had woken up and fought them off.

The council at SHIELD screamed that someone was trying to assassinate the Director and made her pick a team of people to investigate. She didn't know who was Hydra and who wasn't. Her team ended up being a handful of mis-matched agents that she thought she was sure about, but couldn't be certain. She figured, however, that it was safest to assume that anyone was Hydra until proven otherwise. That way, she couldn't be fooled. Unfortunately, it did make her and her little family of Steve and Bucky very, very alone.

She had helped Steve remember why the name Hydra was familiar to him. She had told him about it when she'd returned from war. She and Bucky had been a part of a special division called the Howling Commandos that had fought Hydra. She'd thought they were gone. She thought that she and the Howling Commandos had finished it.

The council brought up Steve, after they'd discussed the attack. They thought he'd lost it.

"That episode the other day," one of the council members started.

"He _was_ attacked, sir, and by someone," Peggy said. She paced in front of the table of councilmembers, her heels making loud clicking sounds. "Don't make it out like he did this all himself."

"With all due respect, you are biased, Director," someone else said and Peggy swallowed her anger.

They went back and forth, the council arguing that Steve was delusional and that he didn't know what he was saying and Peggy trying to defend him. No matter what she said, though, she knew that everyone in the council was accusing her of bias. She could feel it, like a tension in the room.

After a few minutes of the back and forth, one of the council members said, "Director, maybe it's time."

"Time for what," Peggy said exhaustedly, leaning over her desk.

"For his release," the council member finished and Peggy looked up suddenly. She felt as though she'd been socked in the gut. "We've been talking about this for a while and we think now is a good time."

Peggy looked back down. She squeezed her eyes shut and took in a breath.

"You didn't fight for me to stay on," Steve breathed, later that night standing alone in the hall at the hotel room. Peggy was twisting a damp tissue in her hand. Once she'd arrived, she'd taken Steve out alone to talk to him. He stood there, barefoot, in pajamas, as she admitted the truth. The hurt in his eyes cut her open inside.

"Steve, I just," Peggy said. "I don't think they're right, but you need to rest. Maybe it is time." She blinked away tears. She could feel Steve staring at her. He was starting to breathe hard. She looked up into his eyes.

"It's _not_ time, Peggy, don't-" his voice caught. "Stop, don't say that."

"Maybe rest will help make you better!" Peggy cried desperately, throwing her hands up.

"I know what you're saying," Steve said and Peggy sucked in a breath.

"Steve, I'm not-"

"I can _work_ , alright, Peggy? I can! I'm not dead yet, I can do this!" Steve cried. He moved a step closer to her to look into her face. Her eyes brushed over all the red and purple bruises on his skin and she pressed her mouth together tightly. "Please, please don't say this, I'm alive!"

Peggy opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was a cry and she covered her face with her hands. Steve threw up his hands and started to pace. He was starting to cry hard.

Peggy felt the same pain she'd been feeling ever since the diagnosis came back. She felt desperate. She felt helpless. Her stomach twisted. She didn't know if she could do this.

Steve was still talking, still insisting that he wasn't dead, and in his pacing, he closed the distance between him and Peggy and they fell into each other's arms and then to their knees. Peggy squeezed Steve to her and put her face down in the crook of his neck. She gripped his shirt and cried out loud. She could feel him shuddering and sucking in breaths. She tried to be gentle with his bruises and broken rib, but he was squeezing her so hard, she thought it must be okay.

"It's not fair, it's not fair," he was saying.

"I'm so sorry," Peggy cried.

"You should have fought for me," Steve said through those shuddering sobs.

"I want you to get better," Peggy exclaimed. "I want, I want to have you longer, I want to keep you!" Tears streaming down her face, she pulled away just enough to put one hand on his cheek and start to kiss his face desperately, apologetically. He cupped her hand on his face.

"It's not fair," he breathed.

They fell back into each other's arms and the tears slowed and they fell back against the wall, seated on the rug. Peggy laced her fingers with Steve's and laid her head on his shoulder. They didn't talk for a while.

"You know this is Hydra's doing, right," Steve said. His voice sounded tired. He sounded gutted. "This is, they did this. They're trying to scare me away."

"Please just, just focus on getting better, Steve," Peggy whispered back. She picked up his hand and kissed the back of it and put it back down.


	18. 18

18

Steve felt that exhaustion in him that you feel after you cry as hard as you can. He thought he might fall asleep right there in the hall, leaning against Peggy.

He usually felt a lot of anger, but this was one of those rare moments where the grief slipped through and choked him, both hands around his neck, violently. He thought only the anger could subdue it.

After a minute of silence, Peggy spoke up again. She always had the courage to deal with things he couldn't, to face problems he couldn't bring himself to, to keep going after he was ready to quit.

"When are you going to tell Bucky," she said quietly.

I'm not ready to face this, he thought. I can't. I'm ready to quit now. The previous conversation was hard enough.

"I-" he ended up starting and then he cut himself off and squeezed her hand in his tighter. "I just… I can't, I can't look at his face. And say it."

"You're making this harder, Steve," Peggy said and she sighed deeply. "Harder for him and harder for you."

"I just," Steve said and he trailed off.

"There's not going to be a perfect moment," Peggy continued and she looked down and swallowed. He felt her turn to look at him.

"I know," Steve said.

"The longer you wait, the more painful it will be," Peggy said. He couldn't tell if she was pleading and insisting. It almost sounded like both. She took her hand back and brushed her hair out of her face. She was starting to pull herself together. Steve wasn't ready yet. " _You've_ had time to digest this. And me too. But the longer you wait, the less time Bucky has to learn to deal with it."

"I don't want to leave him," Steve said and suddenly he was choking up again. "Or you, Peg. Or anything."

"I know," Peggy said.

"You have to understand this is hard," Steve choked and he looked down and clapped his hand over his mouth. No, no more. No more tears, he was done. He was done. "And complicated," he added after he'd swallowed the knot in his throat.

"I do understand," Peggy said and she dragged herself to her feet. She put her hand out to help Steve up and he accepted it. "And because I understand, I know that you have to tell him. Soon."  
"I'll tell him now," Steve said. He was avoiding her eyes. He leaned back against the wall once he was on his feet and crammed his hands into his pockets. Peggy stepped back and took a deep breath.

"I'll be downstairs," she said. She was going to give them space. Steve stared at the ground and nodded and watched her feet as she walked away.

Now he had to face this. He had to come clean.

He took his time finding the door to the separate hotel room they'd taken out for Bucky to hide in apart from them and pushed the door open and went in.

Bucky was sitting on the bed cross legged and he looked up when Steve entered, letting out a breath of relief when he realized that it was just him. He had been studying the metal lines on his left hand.

"I got something to say, Buck," Steve said and sat down on the bed next to Bucky, his hands still crammed into his pockets. He twisted over a little to look at him and Bucky scooted over closer.

"What is it," he said.

Steve stared at the ground for a long time, turning words over in his head, trying to force them onto his tongue. He didn't know how to do this. What was the right way to do this?

"Steve?" Bucky said and he moved in closer, concerned. "What is it?"

Steve grit his teeth and took a deep breath. He glanced at Bucky's face, but he looked away again fast. He didn't want to see his heart break.

"Got a couple months," he finally admitted out loud. "Probably two, at tops. The doctors said six months, but that was awhile ago." There was a silence.

"No," Bucky said.

"This isn't new, Buck," he said. "It was a matter of time, we always knew that."

The silence was thick around them. Steve felt the pressure of it squeezing his heart. Bucky was frozen in place. Steve didn't dare move either. He could feel his eyes on him.

"You're lying," Bucky said quietly, calmly.

"I'm not," Steve said. "And I'm too tired to cry about it anymore. I'm too tired to be angry about it anymore."

Steve gave him all the details. He told him about how he'd been increasingly exhausted and how he'd started passing out at work at least twice a week and when they'd gone to doctors, no one knew what was going on or how to help him. He was just sick. He was just shutting down. It was over.

They prescribed him a series of medications to take, but they couldn't help him forever. Mostly, Steve explained, they just took away some of the symptoms. But he was still dying.

"And now, they've fired me from my job, too," Steve added. "They're probably already printing out my obituary for the newspaper." Steve stood up. The anger was bleeding back into him now, but he was so tired.

"Steve, please," Bucky breathed. "Please tell me you're lying." The calm was draining away from them both.

"Fine," Steve said emotionlessly, staring forward, his hands fists in his pockets. "I'm lying. Believe that if you want. Not everyone gets to, you know. Some of us have to LIVE with it. Ready or not."

Steve started walking towards the door. The anger was reaching up his throat. Now it was choking him. If it wasn't the grief, it was the rage. Something always had to be coming up, stopping him from breathing.

Bucky didn't say anything as Steve walked out the door and shut it behind him.

 _Hey everyone!_ _I'm_ _sorry, but_ Anything to Keep You _is_ _on_ _an indefinite haitus._ _I'm_ _not sure when_ _I'll_ _be able to_ _come_ _back_ _to_ _it_ _, but_ _I'm_ _still working._ _I'm_ _going to_ _finish_ _it before the end of 2017._  
 _More information on my_ _tumblr_ _page;_ post/155352659800/so-ive-got-some-terrible-news-for-anyone-who  
 _-BB_


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